Friday, April 30, 2010

WANT

Wondrous we are left, thick and fast

On words pelted

written or lip operated

carnage struck island carried

Floating caricature

On our faces at all times studied.



Tears most frequenting

summer dry,

prey we make

as He from above smiles

yet gallantly enough we pack bags

full of sabbatical joints.



White peace strewn

pedaled along roads.


Brown urn leave us uncut,

ashes grey sculpt us one.


Well serves all mouths water, distilled

and pronounces man, man even today.


A days bread earned tilling the land,

but thinks not twice as he shares his meal with smile spread.



Journey along the paths

Brown green blue aqua

appetence thus never falls shorter.


********************************************************************************


The Dockyard

Afar in the nautical smacked land
the seafaring songs seemed funereal
lost very mistfully
in the winking blinking nod of the palm tree.


The dockyard was resilient
the gushing waves of the Arabian Sea
knocked my glacial door
freezing me almost to death.

fins lapping, nibbling lips
splashing Sonata
slided me back and forth
in the lap of the sedimented sand.
Innumerable folklores whirled around
shriek, shrill voices: whispering tales
appeared temptuous
and then, the parrot
cracked a nut in your palm
we rambled along the sanddunes
in reticence,inscripting skin burnt tales of deception
all in the land of the burgeon fishermen
nursing the desire to leave
our footprints behind.

as the horn blew
cacophony approached
splitting the moan of the sea breeze
We walked, all jaded
towards the city ahead of us
hoping for a bowl to hold onto the saline fluid
the fishermen held for us in their netted eyes.

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Thursday, April 29, 2010

The sooted eve




It was long
when you cushioned your head
on my virgin breast
that was sometime in the dusky hour
of a setting day.
The sun had packed off its bag,
while the crickets made ruckus in a nearby pothole
the vigilant bees pulsating in the hives
the fallen leaves crumbled, making hissing sounds
the snake seemed cautious
Nature drumbeat, the birds and animals harking back
you, my dear, clammed up
silent
sunk
as the sun in the depth of the ocean
the bright moonlight too failed to put you in motion.

My hair on your sable sleeping face
jostled you
unclasping me, you melted away
somewhere in the sooted eve
never really wanting to kiss me good-bye.

********************************************************

Wednesday, April 28, 2010


ANAMIKA

YOU are the jasmine

twenty-four carat fragrant

peeping from the terrace of the world

smiling with the clouds and the breeze

florescent day welcomes you

the bask caresses the golden locks

that always hid your fair little smile.

oh! the woodland all aglowed

the peeking rays giggling and flapping their paperlike wings

making the earth sacrosanct

stretching my eyes to the sea above

thanking that someone for sending the precious you.

Have I said-

you are a feather tweaked

to tab the pages of this evanescent life.

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(n.b-the title of the poem means no name in Hindi,it is but dedicated to my bosom friend&all others who have touched my little cosmos.)

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

IT FLOWS



The city is drenched

an uncanny splash of water

floods the sybaritic land

my right arm on the other side of the road

spreads, crying aloud

for help.

The pool across the common lane

disgorges for carrying gallons of blood

Satanic paws clap

and the noise

wakes up a child smashed with bestial kismet

The neo-homo sapiens- out to witness

the wail of a bleeding homeland.

Temples, markets

Churches, over-bridges

All bear a grave silence

No flutes, no drumbeats

Only whimpers,

dry tears

invite you.

Brahmaputra flows with the blood- dyed lambs

Its different tonight, no ashes- but raw

unidentified slices of flesh and plasma sacrificed.

No urn shall ever be moulded

With the cinders the earth tonight assembles…


(this is a reaction to the serial blasts in our homeland-India,the last one that stretched over to Assam on 30.10.08 )

Monday, April 26, 2010

BOOKMARK


Towering up the cold refrigerated cliff
loaded with courage on our gunny bags
the asset the hills mannequined
fell flat to the eyes
wised up only to target 'moves'.
Faintly the tools dressed
and tents flake- hooked
mission yet not accomplished
having a campfire, no
not quite intended.
A sudden lamina of snow fell
the cannons sprang on guard
the frontiers seemed afloat
a while ago it was inert.
my eyes ambushed him: pale skin, green eyes
matched his pair of boots
Soldier was he.
Guarding his country backyard
equally retaliatory was I
chivalry roaring,
he gifted me his last smile
I felt something pushed into my throat.


The Quran had his son's picture, bookmarked
cherry-red his cheeks, snowy-white his eyes.


Myriad voices called me brave,

as I kissed the father good-bye.

***********************************************************************

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Desert Screen


Scorching dust, rambling kite
wandering about in the sandy lawn
life streamless, splashes and flows...
caper, giggle, youthful chatter
echoing...
Silence shriek
reverberate in the spotless walls
time ticks,ticks
every moment breded
parting off, of the wilted leaves
from the old eucalyptus hanger
Green, yellow, and then the golden slumber
death reposes
greenery unfound, sore fingers trace
the spade
stretching its arms
creates life in a decomposed loam

Spill the mud
Spread it, feel it with the turf
Now,
the earth thickens in me.

*****************************************************************************
p.b

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Mandvi trip...a new window to Kutch




It was past midnight. Feet clothed, bags packed and excitement at its pinnacle, we headed for Kutch. Obviously, call of the belly and not the general honey mooners’…ready for a break. It was known, things were piling up in the north western part of the country. Thus the unplanned trip: Last trip, it was Bhuj and the adjacent villages in their raw best. This year the ships would be available to the lenses. A wide port, fisher folks, remains of fort strewn here &there. This time I would return home carrying a different Kutch. This time I also knew it would call for rating the Mandvi beach, every visitor spoke highly of. As my other half was busy collecting info. My Lenses were occupied hunting pictures which were testimonials for the place.

Nevertheless, feet propelled. 44 degree could be fought. Or probably, seven years camping made us camels, skirting away roads for ourselves& getting decolored...wonder, how people can become chain tea sippers in this part of the land!

During the daytime, meeting up people, getting down to the rural lots kept us knocking about. In the evening, it was beach-time. And yes, we still had couple of meetings lined up in the late evening, this one was a stolen bit!


MANDVI BEACH, KUTCH


Enter Mandvi beach. Windmill, camel ride, horse ride, shitty(-of camels& horses) beach welcomed us. Caving in through the sands as we got closer to the sea, we were left with dismay. The sea was her roarous self, obese as I may call her, almost attacking. And thus we were left just comparing. Porbandar, Dwarka, Somnath shores had pleasant appearances: left us pacified. As my other half managed taking a horse ride while I caught up with few regulars. It wasn’t too long as we headed back for our hotel. There never held an inclination to walk past and luxuriate in a silent walk across the shore.


2/10 the beach scored, that too propped up for the windmills.


THE ROUGH SEA


As we were entering our room someone informed us about the Vijay Vilaas Palace. Now, would I not nag? Well, the next morn, we were prepared to gallop our ways. The natives said this was the set for couple of bollywood movies, famous being the Bhansali’s 'Hum dil de chuke sanam'…







THE DEEP SHRUBBY FOREST @VVP

An hour drive from the lodging area, after a diverted route taken, we knew we were in for complaisant views. Darting our ways we just reached an unscrupulous gate and were about to enquire when two Nilgais greeted us. Not just that one of them followed me! It left us all astounded for its human-friendly move. We were directed to head towards the northern passage and so we did. Round and round and merry go round, kutcha road led us not to the palace but to a place which had a private beach. Rs.100, just to enter the beach. And the tents! Voila!-a jolly good escapade: far from the madding crowd. But we had to race through our day.

THE TENTS


Now the real hunt for the palace began. Desert jungles though short seemed pretty scary, as in every lane there were three more directions. Guess what- we had finally gotten lost. Not a single living soul to lead us. Our driver had smiles. Having fought for time not seen, we somehow managed to reach the same gate. Half a day lost in hide and seek. It was only then when somewhere from the dark shrubs a pastoral lad made public appearance that got us racing towards the grand den. And then…

It was worth fighting our way in.


VIJAY VILAAS PALACE


THE DOME FACING THE SEA


He stood majestic holding the honour, the pride welcoming
the puny mortals us. The sprawling structure left us in awe. Silent. Contemplating. Appreciating…

The walls, the Bengal domes, the ventilators, the wide garden…never felt the need of technology! Cool air greeted the admirants. A palace with visitors few, deserves immemorial admiration. Well maintained, well placed, shrewd shrubby forests, labyrinthical tracks, one hell of an experience to reach.

On our way back, again few interesting sights kept us alert. It was the midnight scene and the highways buzzing with activity. A Ship has just docked with a consignment of woods. Huge trucks loaded with gigantic trunks of trees. Shipped into the Indian port, it was an interesting sight for sure. 102 trucks carried these trunks which made us contemplate perhaps an entire forest was uprooted to serve our desires. Human needs grow: greed grows exponentially. There was couple of other trucks which had used clothes to meet the demand of “phorein kapda” in this ever expanding dumping yard of the first world countries. The poor still die in need and just handful of NGO’s fight tough. Rest: make mullah. Period.

It was post dawn now. Unlike in the east, the sun rises late here. With the sounds of the busy shore waving, sleep blanketed us in no time.


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p.db 07.04.x